I haven't written poetry in a while, so I might be a bit rusty but whatever. I always had trouble imagining that children of Apollo could only be good at one thing seeing how multi-disciplinary their father was, so here's this little piece.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters portrayed below.


Things that Can't Be Said Outloud


Literal or not, words have clutched to concepts and words desperately in the spiral communication

And since then they have refused to let go

Nests of verbs and adjectives implanting themselves in the mouths of humanity

Growing in the brains of children with a thirst that cannot be quenched

Unbelievably important in the entire system of communication,

And expanding unlike any other unorganic contraption.

Great and broad, but disappointing in the sense that

Every word I could use to describe you refuses to form when I'm at the mercy of your eyes


I don't want to be a coward

If some knights get to save a princess

I've fought in wars, I have lead men

I've always spoken my mind, I have been vicious

I tried the impossible, I have been ruthless

Even if I weren't missing a princess and the gentle steed,

I would be a coward still

Since there are things that I can't muster the courage to tell you


I heard a girl muttering

And it was like every bird had stopped to sing.

You were being carried away

And everyone was returning to play

After listening to your foreshadowing words.

She wasn't a child, she should have known

If ignorance was a kingdom, she'd be on the throne

She snickered in your direction

Turned to her friends, and they all paid attention

As she spoke of how horrid you were

She said it like you were a problem

As if your hair didn't encompass autumn

As if your eyes were the cue

For me to recall every green I'd seen, every hue

She said that you were a freak and a shrew

I hope you never heard anything of the sort

I hope that you know that to this there is no support

You are a blessing not a sin

And since I can't let that girl win

I will tell you this:

I don't know who the gods gave you to, but I'm glad I'm not far behind


When I was younger

I saw my mother cry

And swore that never would I ever

Let anybody close enough so they could stab

Nobody would ever come in for the kill.

Nobody dangerous would ever approach me.

Nobody with the power to slip into my mind as if it was theirs

Nobody with a sharpened wit,

Nobody with an imagination big enough to wander

Would ever get close enough to touch me.

But if you came to me

With a sharpened knife in one hand,

A sword in the other,

And nothing between your open arms

I would run faster than I ever had before.


Things I cannot say out loud

Your hair looks nice today

You're not a freak, don't listen to what they say

Don't wipe the gold off your face, it suits you

Is that fork hole in your jeans new?

Your curls are perfect, no matter the mess

Your head is so high, you walk like noblesse

May I see your newest painting, each makes me fall a bit in love

Your eyes make me think of the gardens of Olympus above

You really look good when you're wearing blue

I love you


Today you pulled me from the Apollo cabin while I was visiting and had me sit with you during the campfire.

That's it. It's not even a poem. It just made me very happy.


Verba volant,

Scripta manent,

Words dissapear,

Writing stays.

I think

It's wrong

Because whether

Or not

I wrote

It down

I would

Always

Love you


A painter once told me

That his colours were never random

His colours never even went with the things he painted.

He used feelings and meanings to put hues with canvas.

He talked to be about what green meant.

He listed, and I paraphrase:

Growth (like how far I think I've come since that first time you snapped at me)

Patience (like how much you lose it when I put my foot in my mouth)

Harmony (like the nights I've come to love and treasure with you)

Safety (like that feeling of complicity and wellbeing that only comes while you're at my side)

Endurance (like how you haven't give up on me and I've had no reason to do so to you)

And I think that I'll go back to him

And say

"Sir, I saw a girl with the prettiest eyes

And I think you're on to something real great."


Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I suck at poets and you don't

But there are better ways that you could tell me you liked me

xo Rachel

PS- you left your notebook in my cabin last time you came at camp. Whoops, I guess. Oh well. I sent it back with Frank. IM me :)